


Silent Song

by NightoftheWereHunty



Category: Peaky Blinders (TV)
Genre: Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-09
Updated: 2016-05-09
Packaged: 2018-06-07 08:22:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6796522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NightoftheWereHunty/pseuds/NightoftheWereHunty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tommy breaks a Shelby family rule much to Polly's dismay.  What follows is the unraveling of everything Thomas Shelby thought he was capable of.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silent Song

    The stink of horse shit carries over from the stables, its pungent residue clinging to the boots of every visiter to the shipping yard.  The smell is overwhelming and the caustic nature of the scent erodes any hunger left in Gillie’s belly.  No small feat considering she last ate more than two days ago.  She’s been giving her meals to the frailer girls.  The ones that bawl at night and snivel during the day.  It’s the only way she could think of to shut them up.  She needs quiet.  Quiet is how you hear things.  Like the name of the shipping yard where they’re being kept and the name of city that houses it.  It’s also how you hear approaching boots on the filthy cobblestones.  Gillie always pretends to be asleep when she hears the boots.  She keeps her eyes closed too for the jingling of keys.    
  
    “Alright, ladies, on yor feet,” a masculine voice orders.  “Up, up, up.”  
  
Gillie listens to the shuffling women around her, but remains unmoving on the ground.  It’s less defiance and more exhaustion at this point.  Besides, they do this everyday.  Parade the girls about in front of dirty, unshaved faces until a buyer raises his hand.  The crowd thins and then they’re ushered back in, minus a girl or three.  She’s tired of it.  
  
    “I said on yor feet,” the voice repeats, only the owner sounds much closer now.  
  
She opens her eyes and looks at the pudgy faced man scowling down at her, but makes no attempt to move.    
  
    “Ben, we ain’t got time,” a man says from the door.  “Buyers are waitin’.”  
  
    “Take ‘em out then,” the man called Ben answers.  “I’ll deal wit’ the cocky bitch ‘ere.”  He nudges Gillie with a shit-caked boot, and she pulls her frock away from the filth.  “Stand up, whore.”  She sinks closer to the stones.  “I said, on yor fuckin’ feet, cunt,” he says the words with a frothing anger and spittle collects in the corner of his mouth.  He grabs her arm and yanks her upwards.  Her head swims from the sudden rush.  “Not so ‘ard, is it?” Ben sneers,  “Ya just need a man, is all, ain’t that right?  ‘elp ya out wit’ things ‘ere and there.”    
  
It takes effort, but she manages to focus her eyes on the sweating pig-faced man before her.  She sees where his stare lingers.  
  
    “Yeah,” he says, agreeing with himself, as his hands move from her arms to her waist.  “A girl like ya needs quite a load of ‘elp.  Want me to ‘elp ya, sweet’eart?”  
  
Gillie lets her salvia speak for her.  The air stills as her lugie drips down the man’s face.  She expects the fist that slams into her left cheek.    
  
    “Fuckin’ cunt!” he screams as he brings a boot down on her back.  “Fuckin’ filthy cunt!”  He continues to kick her as she curls into ball to protect her sensitive organs.  Gillie’s been in enough fights to know a sharp kick to the kidney could be death.  She bites her lip to keep from crying out, but her lack of sound only further enrages the man.  “Stupid fuckin’ bitch!”  
  
    “What are you doin’?” a deep and composed voice asks.  
  
    “This fuckin’ cunt thinks ‘erself better than the others,”  Ben says without turning around.  He slams a boot down on Gillie’s back.  
  
    “Doesn’t answer my question, Ben,” the voice repeats with an unmistakable air of authority.  
  
Ben stops and turns to face the speaker while taking his hat in his hands.  “Pardon, Mr. Shelby, pardon,” he says quickly,  “I swear I thought ya was Charlie.”  
  
    “No, Charlie’s outside wit’ the rest of the merchandise,” the man explains,  “Where you should be.”  
  
    “A course,” Ben agrees with a violent nod of his head.  He starts to walk away before he stops and looks back at Gillie.  “Should I bring ‘er out?” he asks in a hesitate tone.  
  
    “Not any more,” says Mr. Shelby,  “I doubt she’d sell in that state.”  His words stitch together as he slips a cigarette into his mouth.  “The brothels like to see the faces they’re buying,” he finish as he lights his smoke with a match.  Ben nods one more time and walks past the shiny shoes of the man called Shelby.    
  
    “And Ben,” he says, waiting for the man to turn around.  Once face to face, Mr. Shelby grabs him by the collar and brings the ember of his cigarette not an inch from Ben’s eye.  “Don’t ever touch the merchandise again,” he says calmly,  “Or I’ll burn yor fuckin’ eyes out, yeah?”  
  
Gillie listens to the running steps of Ben as he flees the warehouse.  The quiet settles back over her and she presses her face against the stone floor - its cold a welcome relief to the burning in her left cheek.  She thinks she’s alone until she opens her eyes to see polished leather shoes in front of her face.  Mr. Shelby crouches by her, his expression an unreadable mixture.  
  
    “Tommy!” the sharp cry of a woman pierces the quiet.  “Dear God, I didn’t believe it. Had to see it wit’ me own eyes.”  
       
    His expression shifts into frustration at the woman’s presence and he stands up to turn towards her.  
  
    “Why’re you ‘ere, Polly?”  
  
    “Say it ain’t true, Tommy,” she continues, “Tell me it’s a lie.”  
  
    “I can’t deny what I don’t know,” he says evenly as a trail of smoke escapes with his words.  
  
The woman pushes past him to view the slumped form of Gillie surrounded by bars.  Her eyes light up at the sight before she whips around to face him.  
  
    “You son of a bitch,” she says.  “What I say, Tommy?  What I say the only thing us Shelbys won’t ship?”  
  
    “It’s a one time deal, Polly,” he says evenly,  “And a necessary one if you want to keep the Black Country Boys on our side.”  
  
    “Fuck the Black Country Boys,” she bites out as she slams her hands against his chest, pushing him back a step.  “It’s you, Tommy.  You and yor fuckin’ pride over London.”  
  
    “A one time deal, Polly,” he repeats.  He barely gets the words out before Polly’s hand cuts across his face.  
  
    “Say that to the women outside, I dare you,” she says with a tone as fierce as her slap.  “A one time deal,” she scoffs,  “I guess that’s all it takes now, yeah? To ruin someone’s life. . . A one time fuckin’ deal.  Move, now.  Get out my way or so ‘elp me God, Tommy.”  
  
He stands back with his hands up as Polly opens the iron bars behind him.  She puts her arms under Gillies and guides the girl to her feet.  
  
    “Come on,” she encourages, “Get up.  We’re leaving now, yeah.  Come on.”

 

 

  
    “Where you from?”  
          
    Gillie’s sunken stare is the only recognition Polly’s question receives.  The older women pours vodka onto a scrap of cotton and cleans the cut on the younger women’s face.  
  
    “Family?”  
  
    Gillie shakes her head.  
  
    “Dead?”  
  
    The younger woman shrugs.  
  
    “No where to go then, huh?”  Polly says under her breath.  She flings the bloody fabric down and reaches for a bottle of whiskey.  “Drink?” she offers,  “I know I fuckin’ need one.”  She pours two glasses and pushes one towards Gillie before lighting a cigarette.  She inhales deeply and blows the smoke out her nose while sizing up the young woman in front of her.  Dark brown curls hang over Gillie’s hazel eyes and upturned nose before framing a small, chapped mouth.  Her skin is dark, but not fully brown.  A sandy caramel color almost.  Small silver hoops dangle from her ears.  
  
    “You’ve got traveler’s blood,” Polly says after a moment.  “They don’t came that curly and dark from England.”  
  
    Gillie nods.  
  
    “Can you speak?”  
  
    Gillie nods again.  
  
    “Will you speak?”  
  
    Gillie shakes her head.  Polly snorts and ashes her cigarette.  
  
    “Taken a vow of silence, ‘ave you?” she says.  “For ‘ow long?”  
  
    The young woman shrugs.  
  
    “Alright,” Polly says, “Seeing as ‘ow this’ll be a one way conversation, I’ll make it short.”  She extinguishes her cigarette and downs her glass of whiskey.  “You can’t stay ‘ere.  You’re face is been seen for sale, and the Shelbys can’t be seen as weak.  We’ll give you some money, but you’ve got to stay away from the shipyards and the Garrison.  Not too ‘ard, yeah?  Probably don’t want to go back there anyway.”  She mutters the last sentence mostly to herself.  “I’ll write down the name of a house for you.  It’s not permanent, mind you, but it’ll ‘elp you while you look for one.  It’s a rough crowd there, but you can ‘andle yourself, I’m guessin’.”  
  
    Gillie swirls her whiskey before taking a large gulp and pushes the glass back to Polly.  She should be thankful to the older woman, but the only feeling she can muster is exhaustion.  Polly scribbles an address on a piece of paper and passes it to Gillie.  She grabs the younger woman’s hand when she reaches for the scrap.  
  
    “I can only ‘elp you once,” she says.  “You come back around the Garrison, you come back around the shipyards, and I’ll let whatever ‘appens, ‘appen.  Do you understand?”  Gillie pulls her hand away with a slow nod.  “Good,” Polly continues, “Good.  I’ll send my son, Michael, down wit’ the money.  ‘e’s a good boy.  You can trust ‘im.”  
  
    Rough seems a kind word to describe the establishment that Gillie stands inside, but it has a roof and bed, which is more than she’s gotten in the last month.  Never mind the roaches and rats.  She’s dealt with worse vermin.  She plays with the idea of bathing herself before bed, but her fatigue wins out, and she slides her soiled body between the moldy sheets.  She’ll need a good night’s rest if she’s to find work tomorrow.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not sure about this story. For one, I've never written for this fandom before. Second, I usually hate fanfiction with original characters, and I definitely never thought I'd write one. The accents are also giving me trouble. I know one thing for sure, this won't ever be a romance between Gillie and Tommy. Let me know what you think, please. I'll continue posting it if you guys think it might be worthwhile.


End file.
